Trouble Me
by Worthfull1
Summary: Remus/Tonks wedding night fic. Inspired by the song 'Trouble Me' by 10,000 Maniacs. No Smut or language here, rated only for suggestive themes. Rewritten to exclude lyrics. Please enjoy!


**Author's Note:** I couldn't help it, I heard this song on the radio and, in addition to being one of my all-time favourite songs from one of my all-time favourite bands, it just spoke to me all of a sudden about a particular pairing that I think didn't get nearly enough attention in the books or in the movies. I don't use names here, but I have no doubt about you lovely readers knowing who we're dealing with. Inspired by _'1_ _0,000 Maniacs' 'Trouble Me'._

Thanks, Worthfull1

P.S. I own nothing, anything recognizable belongs to the lovely Ms. Rowling. I also do not own Natalie Merchant, _10,000_ _Maniacs_ or their song, _'Trouble Me'._

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 **Trouble Me**

Her lips moved along with the woman's voice as she walked slowly up to the man she'd just tied her life to forever, officially, _till death do us part_. The sweetest words she'd ever spoken were _'I do'_ , and the sweetest sound she'd ever heard was his echo... _'I do'_. A part of her still marveled at the fact that he'd gone through with it. Her brand new husband had looked the part of a skittish animal the entire time, but he'd stayed. He'd made his vows, held her hand, promised his fidelity and trust and everlasting love.

How she made it all the way across the room without stumbling once, she'd never know, but there she stood, directly in front of him. Her hands went to his chest as his grasped her hips, pulling her closer. Their lips met softly and lovingly, but passionately - the time they'd spent apart the previous year having built up a longing and desire that both knew one night could not quench. They would need the rest of their lives to sate themselves with the other's presence.

Her singing voice left a lot to be desired, she knew, so she contented herself with simply mouthing the words as he watched. This particular song summed up everything she'd been trying to convince him of for a year and she wondered if she could have sped things up if she'd just bought him the record and made him listen to it. Pushing him gently, she made him sit on the bed, then stepped in between his legs and took his mouth once more as his fingers traveled up her back to undo the zipper on her dress.

She knew, of course, of his insecurities, his fears. Most people who knew her husband knew of his particular brand of phobias and she'd spent most of their time together trying to show him she could handle his neurotic personality. She could handle his life, his curse... she wanted to be his partner in all things, the good and the bad - even if she wasn't exactly sure where one ended and the other began.

She knew how _they_ started. An embarrassed apology after a stumble on the way to shake the proffered hand, a raven-haired cousin unable to contain his giggles at the red ears of his friend as he caught the pink-haired witch before she hit the floor, childish glances across the table when they should have been listening to Mad-Eye Moody... From there, it had progressed to midnight hot-chocolate after guard duty, an acknowledgement of feelings and finally a heated snog in the sitting room on a hot day in June.

Then disaster struck. Her cousin and his oldest friend - the same one who teased them mercilessly - had become a casualty of war at the hands of yet another family member. She had been devastated, of course, but he had been inconsolable. He'd put on a brave front at first, but soon it caved and he retreated into himself in a way she'd never seen from anyone before. He distanced himself from everyone, especially her, and only spoke when absolutely necessary to whomever had spoken to him first.

Her owls were never replied to, her knocks on his door went unanswered. Moody told her he'd volunteered to go underground, to be with 'his own kind' for a while. She'd scoffed. 'His own kind', indeed. Her man was too kind to be of that 'kind' and everyone knew it. Everyone except the man in question, apparently. He'd return periodically, bruised and exhausted, but he'd never seek out her comfort. He'd heal himself as best he could, let Molly mother him for a while, then go back.

Finally, things changed. It took a solid year of unhappiness, insecurity and depression to the point of stunting her powers, but things did change. She finally broke. Right there, in front of Merlin and everyone, she grabbed him by those infuriatingly well-pressed lapels and declared her love for him. Shouted it for the world to hear. To say he'd been stunned was an massive understatement, but at least he took her seriously this time.

They talked for hours after that and it took nearly a week to get through the emotional build-up. He slept on her couch (ever the gentleman) and he'd make her coffee before she went to work. When her shift ended, she'd come back to her flat to find him there, feeling just a bit of surprise each time that he hadn't bolted from her life again, and they'd talk some more.

He held her through her tears and apologized for causing them and she, in turn, rubbed his back consolingly as he spoke of the people dear to him that he'd lost. Friends, parents, lovers and now even his mentor were gone and he was scared - terrified, even - that she would be next. He confessed to her that he didn't think he could handle that. If she were to fall, it might just be the last straw for him. He was afraid of breaking, of breaking _her_ and he didn't know how to get past that.

She tried to quell his fears as best she could, but they both knew any promises of safety were hollow. Tomorrow was promised to no one and that was especially true in war when they both had dangerous jobs to do. Somehow, though, she was able to convince him to jump in at the deep end with her. If they had only a small amount of time left, she wanted to spend it with him. _'Marry me,'_ she'd said, _'then, no matter what happens, I'm always with you and you're always with me. I love you.'_

So he did. He married her in front of witnesses and now they were here and she was trying to get his clothes off. The cheap motel was all he'd been able to afford, but she insisted she didn't care. He did, though. The place smelled funny and he thought he'd seen a cockroach crawling across the carpet when they walked in, but she quickly distracted him, putting music on and approaching him, her intention clear.

And why shouldn't she want him? It was their wedding night, after all. He was nervous, though. A part of him still worried that she'd get his shirt off and the patchwork of scars across his body would send her running for her life as it had once or twice before with previous partners. Placing his hands over hers as they worked his shirt buttons loose, he slowed her, wanting her to take her time. They had all night, there was no sense rushing things.

Her answering pout told him she clearly didn't agree with that and he melted. Sitting on the bed with her standing before him between his legs, he thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful. Her simple wedding dress hung off her now, the zipper undone and one strap holding the fabric in place while the other rested across her upper arm where it had fallen earlier. She was barefoot, and her hair fell just long enough to partially cover her eyes, giving her just a hint of mystery.

She mouthed lyrics at him again and he released her hands, letting her do whatever she wanted to him. He desperately wanted to believe in her, he _did_ believe in her, but he had no idea how he would ever make himself worthy of her. That was impossible, he thought, as she got his shirt off and lowered her lips to his scarred flesh, tonguing and tracing and kissing the abused skin. _'I love you'_ , she whispered against his chest, and he was gone. There was only so much a man could take, after all.

Threading his fingers through short, pink hair, he brought her mouth up to his and kissed her deeply, feeling the cracks in his heart and soul stitch themselves back together. Old wounds that he had resigned himself to living with for the rest of his life were healing, being made whole again. This was magic he'd never experienced, had never even heard of and he knew why. There was no way he would be able to verbalize this, even with his impressive vocabulary.

How could a person explain the tingles that surged through his fingertips every time he revealed another inch of her bare skin? How could he describe the hyper-sensitivity of her touch as it ghosted over his body? The way his hair stood on end when she ran her nails lightly across his back? The feeling of being in tune with her very breathing as he dragged her fully onto the bed with him and hovered over her?

She gazed up at him with love and adoration and reached a hand up to his face. Gently combing his hair back with her fingers, she traced the lines in his forehead, his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his jaw-line. She ran her fingertips over his moustache and around his lips, her mouth twitching in amusement as he nipped lightly and playfully at her digits. Finally, she threaded her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and pulled him down to her. He went willingly, adjusting his body over hers so they could come together. They gasped in unison as the two became one and they knew they'd just sealed a bond that could never be broken. _'Till death do us part...'_

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 **Author's Note:** Please listen to the song that inspired this fic and tell me if I got them right.

Thanks, Worthfull1


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